The Case of the Thousand Miles
by Emilia Rachana Copper
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is not a psychopath, he's a highly functioning sociopath (do you research,) and no one has ever changed that. Until SHE came along.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes sat on the couch with his legs hanging off the back. He saw the room upside down, actually more like John Watson, his flat mate, typing on his computer, most likely on his blog.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked when Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh.

"I'm bored." Sherlock said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Have you checked the page for clients?" John asked calmly shutting his laptop.

"Yes, they're all boring."

"What was there?"

"A missing flag, it was obvious the maid did it. A father died, presumed from poison, but it was a heart attack. Oh, and a runaway hamster," Sherlock flipped himself and stood up.

"Do you ever think maybe doing something simple can help you do other things?"

Sherlock gave the much shorter man a look that said it all.

"What, you know Einstein did a simple task to figure out a much bigger problem."

"I'm not Einstein am I?" Sherlock said testily.

"Obviously not," John whispered and opened his laptop back up.

Sherlock sent him a look with a nasty glare. With that John rolled his eyes and continued writing. Sherlock stared at him a moment before opening his own computer. A blip rang through the room and Sherlock practically jumped out of his seat.

"What?" John asked looking at the other man.

"There's been a murder." Sherlock said; an imperceptible smile crossed his lips.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Lestrade just sent me something." With that Sherlock practically flew to the coat rack and down the stairs.

John sighed and followed Sherlock out. Sherlock hailed a cab and jumped in. John followed and Sherlock told the cabbie the directions the second the door closed. The ride was short, but John put up with Sherlock's going on about what type of murder he was hoping it was. They arrived and hopped out of the cab after paying. They strode over to Lestrade and John listened to what they had gathered.

"Hello, it was a man, bullet to the right side of the temple, about early forties, and six foot two." Lestrade said.

Sherlock gave a nod while pulling on gloves. He brought himself close to the body and examined it in the only way Sherlock could. He looked at the bullet wound and noticed its irregular shape: slanted. The bullet came from an angle. The right hand was more worn than the left. Sherlock looked around the room, he tried to see something, but there was an itch in the back of his mind.

"Anderson, stop breathing so loudly, you can do that tonight with Donovan." Sherlock hissed.

The forensic scientist gave a look of disbelief first to the man, then to Lestrade. Lestrade nodded and Anderson left the room. There! Now Sherlock got it, there was no sign of a struggle or a forced entry, he most likely knew his attacker, or at least saw it coming. A peculiar scent dusted Sherlock, when he noticed a set of flowers: calla lilies. He strode over to it and examined the bouquet closely. Resting inside the bundle of flowers laid a soft yellow card. He plucked it out, flipped it around, and saw typed writing.

_Let's play, shall we?_

_-M_

Sherlock's eyes went a tad wider, not going unnoticed by his partner.

"So what is the verdict, Sherlock?"

"He didn't know his killer, but he saw it coming, so he was probably part of a group or something." The deep baritone voice kept an even tone while John watched his flat mate's fingers twitch.

"Was the killer male or female?"

"I don't know yet, I have to do more research." With that Sherlock was now away from reality and trapped in his own mind.

Sherlock spun out of the crime scene to hail a cab and John was quick behind. They stepped into the cab.

"Jane's Flowers," Sherlock said and leaned back into the vinyl seat.

John was going to ask Sherlock about what he saw on the card until he saw his flat mate's fingers steeped under his chin. John had learned better than to talk to Sherlock when he was thinking. They arrived at the florist and Sherlock jumped out leaving John to pay the fare. John grumbled, but did the deed and followed the man into the building. As the much shorter man walked in, he saw Sherlock waiting a little less than patiently as a young girl stood ordering flowers. John also noticed that the detective was analyzing a small scrap of yellow paper. John ignored the man and looked at the girl; she was tall, certainly taller than him. She had light wavy brown hair that reached below her shoulders, the top of which was covered by a loose knit grey hat, a slim figure, and that was all he could tell from behind.

"I'm sorry, we're out of Statice," the young cashier said as he looked up from the computer, most likely holding inventory.

Sherlock looked up abruptly. John watched him mouth the word 'remembrance.' He gave Sherlock a curious look and watched as Sherlock was now eavesdropping.

"Do you have Alstroemeria?" The girl asked, a bit annoyed.

Again the cashier checked and shook his head. John looked to Sherlock: 'friendship' the detective mouthed. John felt he wasn't picking up on something, which was common for the army doctor when he was around Sherlock.

"How about Aster?" Again, no.

'Patience.'

The young girl sighed and looked at the counter.

"Fine, Queen Anne's Lace and Roses," She looked up calmly.

Sherlock watched the girl carefully. The cashier went to the back of the store to collect the flowers. The girl turned around and jumped slightly at the sight of the two men. Sherlock had to admit he was surprised by her beauty, this was not something he commonly noticed with people, but hers was striking. Her deep blue eyes were rimmed with eyeliner, but it didn't make her look fake, no, it accented the shape, her round-almond eyes set the perfect space apart. Her mouth was curved up in a small relieved smile. Sherlock had now started analyzing her. Her clothes recommended wealth; the old gold band and crystal ring worn in a chain around her neck said something about marriage. Her nails were clean with clear nail polish on them, done at home. Her stance practically screamed a battle for security. Other than this, Sherlock got _nothing_ from her.

"Sorry about the wait," she smiled lightly.

"Not a problem, is it Sherlock?" John asked and turned to the thin man.

His forehead was wrinkled slightly until the voice pulled him through to the shop.

"Oh no, I'm curious, you seem to know a lot about flowers." He started.

"Not now Sherlock," John hissed.

Sherlock ignored the other man.

"Remembrance, friendship, patience; and the rings around your neck, are you visiting a loved one, spouse perhaps?" Sherlock asked.

The girl glanced to the floor.

"I'm not, nor have I been married, I'm visiting my parents." The girl said slightly shy now.

"Condolences," John said quietly.

The girl smiled softly. The cashier came back with a bouquet and handed it to the girl as she turned around. She held them in the crook of her arm, like a pageant winner.

"Twenty-two pounds," The cashier said. "Reduced for the hassle," he blushed a bit and looked at the money the girl set on the table.

Even John could tell the price wasn't reduced for the hassle. The girl walked away and turned to the two men who were waiting.

"Delightful to meet you two," she said.

"Pleasure's all ours," Sherlock said with slight gusto.

The girl stepped outside and started walking. Sherlock turned to John and started speaking quickly.

"You need to find out who bought an order of Calla Lilies most recently."

"Where are you going?" John asked annoyed.

Sherlock said nothing as he looked out the large glass window.

"You've got to be kidding me." John said.

Sherlock grinned and walked outside and headed in the direction of the girl.

**AN-**

**So, this is my Sherlock fanfic. This chapter sucks, but I hope it gets better. Also, guys, I get one year younger in 7 days (It's April 4 in the US the day this was posted.) I'm actually kind of scared, but anyways, I'm going to at least get one chapter up of my Harry Potter one and then I'll try and update everything else I have going. ~Ta.**


	2. Chapter 2

John walked over to the cashier and asked exactly what Sherlock told him to do. Sherlock on the other hand nonchalantly followed the girl to a cemetery. She walked in and crossed the grass to two granite headstones. Sherlock quietly followed and hid behind the statue of an angel in the next row. From there he could read the names on the headstones. The one on the right said Martin Freeman, and the left was Amanda Freeman. The girl laid the flowers in between them and kneeled.

"It's been a while, two years actually. I had to get away, it was all too overwhelming. I met some blokes today as I was getting you these flowers, the man at the register didn't have any Statice, and I knew those were your favorite, mum." The girl said and smiled.

She looked at her hands in her lap as she twisted them around.

"I got into Cardiff School of Journalism, I know that's not what you wanted dad, but I had to. I couldn't be a doctor, like you wanted me too, I just couldn't, to many people would die at my hands." She said almost too quietly for Sherlock to hear.

Sherlock noticed someone coming the girl's way. He slid more carefully behind the statue as the girl stood up to talk to the new person. They were talking too low for Sherlock to hear. He couldn't see the other person's face and their clothing was too baggy. He noticed the conversation seemed to get heated for a bit as the girl went rigid with anger and her fists curling at her sides. Suddenly she relaxed a bit. The heat died down and she nodded. Sherlock gave a questioning look. A million things could've just happened. The other figure walked away and the girl stood there looking down at the graves.

"I'm sorry, I have to go." The girl said looking down.

She turned and walked a ways before stopping and looking at the angel statue.

"Blimey, you better not blink if you're going to stand near that thing." The girl said.

Sherlock stood absolutely still.

"Are you determined to think I don't notice you? I just met you in the flower shop! You're the unbelievably tall one." She said.

Sherlock stepped out from his previous position and looked at the girl.

"I'm curious, why exactly, were you following me?"

"Investigation,"

"You've just met me, why would you need to investigate."

"I've just met you," Sherlock said simply.

"That's a fantastic reason." The girl rolled her eyes.

"The only reason I need,"

"Anyways, I know your name, _Sherlock_, interesting by the way. Not common, sounds . . . intriguing and laced with danger." She said, eyebrows shooting up than down accenting her last word as she stepped closer.

"You know mine, but yours?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" The girl smiled slyly.

Sherlock suppressed a grin.

"I know you come from a wealthy line, and you do home beauty, you are a bit insecure and shy. I can tell everything about you from one look, at least not your name."

"Clearly not, all of that's wrong." The girl smirked.

Sherlock looked puzzled.

"How?"

"You see thrift shops are excellent for finding mismarked brands, cheap salons great for the wallet and appearances, I'm quite confident since I'm chatting up a stranger who followed me to a secluded cemetery. Questions?"

Sherlock blinked rapidly.

"Grace by the way," she smiled.

Sherlock's phone went off.

_They don't have any record of Calla Lilies recently. -JW_

"The Bat Radar going off?" Grace asked.

"I have to go," was all he managed to get out.

It was rare Sherlock was confused, only one girl had ever done this to him, but she was long gone.

"It was nice meeting you Sherlock," Grace called after the detective as he hailed a cab.

'Grace,' he mouthed and smirked, leaning against the seat.

"What was that all about?" John asked the man as Sherlock strode into 221B.

"Investigation," Sherlock shrugged.

"Of a girl you don't know?"

"Her name is Grace," Sherlock muttered.

Silence fell over the flat.

"What?"

"You know I do hate repeating myself."

"You found out her name? What did you . . . never mind," John collapsed into the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Sherlock picked up his violin without the bow and sprawled out on the couch. He plucked absently at the strings while thinking. This girl completely defied him. The conversation kept ringing through his head. Her confidence twisted up a storm of curiosity in Sherlock, few had ever done this unheard of task. Little did he know, John was watching very closely. He had only seen the tall man think this hard about two people: Jim Moriarty and Irene Adler. Suddenly the whole room jumped at the sound of Sherlock's phone going off.

_Are you busy? _

Sherlock gave the phone a raised eyebrow and typed back.

_Who is this? –SH_

_ Oh, wouldn't you like to know? -GF_

Sherlock smiled wickedly.

_So are you busy? –GF_

_ That all depends –SH_

_ On? –GF_

_ A better offer –SH_

_ Does coffee count? –GF_

"Sherlock, you need to solve the murder." John sighed.

Sherlock glared at the man.

_It does, but I can't. –SH_

_ Shame –GF_

Sherlock kept a straight face as he stood up and paced the room, switching his mind over to the case. There wasn't any record of the flowers at that shop, although they were done in the style of the store's signature form. They could always be home grown and made to look like the shop. That had to be it.

"Sherlock, what was on that yellow card?" John asked when he saw the opportunity.

Sherlock stopped and pulled out the paper and held it out. John groaned and stood up taking it. John read it carefully.

"You think it was Moriarty don't you?" John asked.

"I don't think he was the murderer if that's what you're thinking."

"Then why would this be there?"

"He had something to do with it." Sherlock said as it _was_ obvious.

"What if he's just messing with you Sherlock?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw and was about to make a retort when his phone went off.

_We have another murder. Bloomsbury Place. –GL_

Sherlock headed out to the street with John close behind. The ride took a bit, but they were dropped off at the house. Donovan 'greeted' the pair.

"Look, it's the psycho and his puppy." She spat.

"Hello Donovan, if you wished to deceive people, it would be best not to wear one of Anderson's shirts to work." Sherlock said sweetly.

Donovan's mouth dropped open wide and the men walked onto the crime scene.

"Anna-lexia, mid-twenties, she came back home from the café and was killed." Lestrade said.

_Similar to the last _was what crossed Sherlock's mind. He noticed the bullet wound to the head, it was shakier than last, not as clean.

"Sherlock," John said and Sherlock sat up quickly.

The short man nodded to a bouquet of flowers. _Heather and Bachelor's Button;_ solitude and anticipation; inside the flowers was another note:

_Surprised you haven't gotten this yet._

_Need a clue?_

_-M_

Sherlock frowned in annoyance. This was a serial killing, but something was different, something he wasn't seeing. Suddenly a door was unlocked. _The bullet wound was shaky._ The killer was nervous this time, but why? Sherlock stood roughly where Anna-lexia was standing and looked at where the bullet would've come from. The chair was a pale cream tub chair. Sherlock took a large step over to the chair and leaned over it. The smell of citrus and lavender drifted up to him.

"John, come here," Sherlock muttered.

John came over.

"What, Sherlock?"

"What do you smell?"

"Oranges," John shrugged.

"Anything else?"

". . . Flowers,"

Sherlock nodded.

"So, we know that the killer wears citrus and flower perfume and is female. Yeah, that narrows it down." John said flatly.

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek lightly. John did have a point . . .

**AN-**

**Wow, I really didn't think this would get as much response so quickly. I'm honestly flattered. I must warn that Sherlock may be a bit out of character at times, so please don't nag me about this. Thank you all!**


End file.
